ined and gave. It was a
deadly ten minutes of suspense and anxiety. Twice or thrice as I looked
down I saw a spasm of pain break over Harold's face; but when I paused
and glanced inquiringly, he motioned me to go on with my venturesome
task. There was no turning back now. We had almost got him up when the
rope at the edge began to creak ominously.

It was straining at the point where it grated against the brink of the
precipice. My heart gave a leap. If the rope broke, all was over.

With a sudden dart forward, I seized it with my hands, below the part
that gave; then--one fierce little run back--and I brought him level
with the edge. He clutched at Elsie's hand. I turned thrice round, to
wind the slack about my body. The taut rope cut deep into my flesh; but
nothing mattered now, except to save him. 'Catch the cloak, Elsie!' I
cried; 'catch it: pull him gently in!' Elsie caught it and pulled him
in, with wonderful pluck and calmness. We hauled him over the edge. He
lay safe on the bank. Then we all three broke down and cried like
children together. I took his hand in mine and held it in silence.

When we found words again I drew a deep breath, and said, simply, 'How
did you manage to do it?'

[Illustration: I ROLLED AND SLID DOWN.]

'I tried to clamber past the wall that barred the way there by sheer
force of stride--you know, my legs are long--and I somehow overbalanced
myself. But I didn't exactly fall--if I had fallen, I must have been
killed; I rolled and slid down, clutching at the weeds in the crannies
as I slipped, and stumbling over the projections, without quite losing
my foothold on the ledges, till I found myself brought up short with a
bump at the end of it.'

'And you think no bones are broken?'

'I can't feel sure. It hurts me horribly to move. I fancy just at first
I must have fainted. But I'm inclined to guess I'm only sprained and
bruised and sore all over. Why, you're as bad as me, I believe. See,
your dear hands are all torn and bleeding!'

'How are we ever to get him back again, Brownie?' Elsie put in. She was
paler than ever now, and prostrate with the after-effects of her
unwonted effort.

'You are a practical woman, Elsie,' I answered. 'Stop with him here a
minute or two. I'll climb up the hillside and halloo for Ursula and the
men from Lungern.'

I climbed and hallooed. In a few minutes, worn out as I was, I had
reached the path above and attracted their attention. They hurried down